Page 95 of The Villains We Make

Light flickers momentarily, the pain beginning, but it’s gone again and I’m lying in a huge bed with feathers all around me. White feathers. Thick blankets. I’m wearing white, too. Everything is white and bright and light and I’m floating in this bed of Esmerelda’s feathers. I’m sure they’re hers.

“O? O, can you hear me?”

Silas.

I blink, flashes of darkness breaking into the serenity of light. Pain comes again, the bullet setting my skin on fire.

“Ophelia.”

I turn my head. There he is. Silas. But he’s soaked in blood.

My blood.

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

Warm hands on my face. Calloused thumbs trying to be gentle as they wipe away my tears.

“Wake up.”

I’m trying.

40

SILAS

Three days have passed since that night. Since Ophelia threw herself into the pool and took that bullet for me. Three days since she almost died to save me.

I squeeze her hand, careful not to touch the bruise that’s formed where the IV is attached at the back of it.

She was lucky, they say. I’m not so sure. The bullet was barely a centimeter from her heart. It almost killed her. It would have killed me. She saved me.

I wipe yet another tear sliding down over her temple. She doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, but she does cry. Surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage lasted eight hours. She could open her eyes any minute now. Any minute. I haven’t left her side because when she does, I need her to see me. To know I’m here for her.

Horatio brought me a change of clothes. I showered here, in the bathroom in her hospital room, exactly once. I’ve smelled better. I won’t leave her side, though.

I brush her hair away from her face then slip my hand around hers.

“I’m thinking when you wake up, we should go away for a while. Somewhere warm. Somewhere no one knows. A warm beach. Yes. Your favorite beach in Mexico. What was the name? You said you loved it once, a long time ago.” I don’t remind her where we were. “You said that the sea was the color of my eyes and then blushed so red I couldn’t help my smile. Do you remember that? You were so embarrassed, and I thought you were so sweet. So beautiful. Do you know that?”

I feel something then, a light squeezing of my fingers. I look at our hands, at her face. I’m sure I felt it.

“O? Squeeze my hand again, sweetheart.”

I wait, but nothing.

“Maybe we can get married on that beach. What do you think?” I continue, hoping to prompt her to do it again. “I mean, properly married. Because it’s what I want, O. You to be my wife forever for no reason other than that I love you and you love me. What do you think?”

Squeeze.

I smile, wipe away my own tear that comes out of nowhere.

“Again. Do it again for me. Please. Please, please do it again.”

Her eyelids flutter and that’s better than a squeeze. I stand, lean over her, watching her.

“We’ll invite your dad this time. He can give you away.”

Another squeeze.

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